


The Self and the Other

by Doitsuki



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Daddy Issues, Drabble, M/M, Multi, Other, Scenting, noncon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-18 20:01:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4718696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doitsuki/pseuds/Doitsuki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Feanor is jealous of his half-brother and is basically upset about everything. Creepiness and thoughts flowing into whatever this piece is comes after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Self and the Other

Fingolfin is all rich blue silk and thick, dark hair just like his father, Finwë. Majestic and tall, he stands beside the High King of the Noldor with the biggest smile on his face Fëanor has ever seen. Fëanor can barely see it out of the corner of his eye as he stands to the right of Finwë, attending court only for the sake of it. He cannot bear to leave Finwë alone with any of his other children for any amount of time at all. He sees how Finwë smiles at them and ruffles their hair, reaching up to some of the taller ones. Even the sight of kind-hearted Finarfin with his twinkling eyes and bright grin makes Fëanor’s blood boil. They are there in _his_ place. The sons, the daughters, that Vanyarin creature of lust and deceit… She is not present now, thankfully. Fëanor will not have to grit his teeth to endure her being around. It is still difficult though, to see his half-siblings all on display as Finwë’s prized children, the result of his recovery from the death of his first wife. Fëanor’s fiery eyes dim to a low red haze as he remembers his mother, sweet Miriel with her gentle hands and lovely voice. A mere glimmer of light in the putrid blackness that sits inside his mind, stewing every day. It is the memory of his mother that inspires him to do anything other than wrong those around him. When he looks at Fingolfin sometimes (when he can be bothered to spare a glance to that ridiculous posing prince) the need to crush his throat surges through Fëanor’s fingers. Even now, his hand twitches at the sight of Fingolfin’s smile.

He clenches a fist by his side when he realizes what his half-brother is doing. Very discreet and as soft as possible, Fingolfin’s long fingers caress the back of Finwë’s head. Stroking down his hair, it appears as if Fingolfin is giving him a massage. The tension in Finwë’s body dissipates with every touch.

 _‘Just how dare he?’_ Fëanor thinks, gritting his teeth. ‘ _In public, too! Does he have no shame?’_ It is then that a much darker thought crosses his mind. It crosses, it pauses, then it comes back to take root. ‘ _Fingolfin is asserting his control. He **knows** I can see. He is doing this… to tell me… oh, **no**. He WILL NOT HAVE MY ADA.’_ In leaps and bounds, he reaches the conclusion that spurs him to action later that day. It is when he spies Finwë on his own that he decides to confront him.

“Adar, do you have a moment?” He speaks in the most mature, professional manner he can so as to appease the nature of the King. Finwë has always liked things to be quick, concise and sensible. But it appears he has not the time for even the most logical of arguments today.

“No, I do not. Leave me be.”

Fëanor’s jaw drops. _‘He has always had time for me in the past. What is this?’_

“Why?” he probes. “What are you doing that makes you so busy that you have not the time for your eldest son? His hands wring behind his back in the heavy fabric of his robes. He does not care that he twists wrinkles into the luxurious material that covers his ass. He will scrunch up all his clothing from stress if Finwë continues to deny him.

“Oh, come now son I am _tired_. Will you not leave me in peace?” Finwë does not explain his desire to stare out the window, his hands folded in his lap and head against the soft rest of his massive gilded armchair. All he wants is a moment to himself, or perhaps an hour for sleep without anyone by his side. Time on his own is rare these days as so many people clamour for his attention, he feels he doesn’t even have time for his own thoughts. It also seems that his children compete for what love he has to give. A part of him is both sickened and saddened at this. Another remains hopeless. There is so much fighting amongst his folk already. Why must it invade his family so?

Fëanor narrows his eyes and glares at his father. In the window he can see Finwë’s weary face lined with both stress and exhaustion. He wants to know what the King has been doing all day aside from sitting at court to be so fatigued. Finwë’s hair is mussed and his lips look a little reddened. _Oh_.

“Well, if you are going to sit there and enjoy yourself I shall go be miserable somewhere else.” Fëanor makes one last attempt at guilting his father and leaves, forcing the thoughts of Finwë and Indis _doing things_ out of his head. Damn that elleth, always in Finwë’s thoughts where once had been Fëanor and Miriel only. Fëanor _pines_ for his father’s love, that which he once knew and knows can still be his. It just requires work… conditioning… and effort. All things that Fëanor cannot be bothered to do, not when his siblings are playing the same game. No, Fëanor has other ideas. Ones that will get much faster results… just the way he likes it.

Later that day, when the light of Telperion bathes all of Aman in an eerily beautiful silver, Fëanor sneaks to his father’s room. The night is by no means dark and frightening, but the lack of visibility in the palace makes for the perfect creeping environment. Closer and closer he steps on the flesh of his bare feet, cushioning his steps with the motion of his body. He hears his father breathing so evenly it can only mean sleep. The presence of Indis cannot be felt. _Of course not._ It had taken quick thinking and skill beyond compare for Fëanor to drug his stepmother’s evening glass of wine with a powerful draught made to send one into a coma. She still sleeps now in the sitting room with the contents of her glass spilt, mouth open and body covered with a blanket. Like a corpse she is hidden, and Fëanor has Finwë to himself. _Good._

Fëanor slides through the door and in a single snakelike motion, divests himself of clothing. His robes slip from the muscled curves of his body and only snag on his prominent hipbones. He runs his fingers along his stomach, then to his crotch as he unlaces his breeches. They fall away like petals from a dying flower.

When Fëanor eases himself onto his father’s bed, he watches Finwë’s face, sight granted only by the sliver of light that peeps through the curtains behind the bed. Finwë’s stern face looks even more serious while he rests, and his hands are atop his chest as if he is ready to be buried. Fëanor shakes his head and straddles Finwë with a smile. Nude and a little cold, Fëanor dares not speak. But his actions allow him to express his heart’s desire. He rises on his knees, tilting his hips towards Finwë’s face. Hovering above his father and looking down, Fëanor’s dark lashes sweep the top of his cheekbones. A little moisture is gathered there, that which he will allow to dry on its own, for touching the residue left by bitter tears is an acknowledgement of them and Fëanor will die before admitting he has cried.

 _‘Oh, Ada…_ ’ he thinks to himself, swaying his hips from side to side with a calculated precision in the movement. The glistening wetness of his desire rubs against Finwë’s lips, sugary sweet with a unique bitter tang. Finwë does not taste it but _he will_ , and know who he belongs to.

Fëanor marks his father’s cheeks too before slipping under the covers, snuggling up beside the one he loves the most. He will feign innocence come morning, and breathe in the aroma of his own scent upon Finwë.

Fingolfin will not dare to interfere now.

**Author's Note:**

> idk its just a creepy little drabble.... was gonna make this into a fic but nobody really reads this pair anyway XD noncon feanor shenanigans? LMAO.


End file.
